by Isa Hansen
“Well, here.” She placed the stone in his hand. “You dropped this.”
He stretched his fingers straight and gazed at the stone, flat on his palm. “I wondered where that had gone,” he said. “I was relieved to have lost it. And now here it is again.” He flashed a forlorn smile. “Well, I’ll be off.” He slipped the stone into his pocket, turning to leave.
“Alex,” she said.
He angled back to her.
“I, um—I’ve been seeing someone good,” she said. “You know, a therapist. The talks have been helping. Have you? Are you getting the help you need where you are, at the facility?”
She wouldn’t soon forget his face that day in the early spring sun.
“Yeah,” he said, his back straight, hands carefully tucked into his coat pockets. It was the first time she’d seen him like that. Stripped down; no antics, no lies. He looked youthful, innocent, like a boy. “I think I am.”
The bird that Celia had been observing during their conversation sang out in a joyful little tune: driiiiiii chim chim chim. The branch underneath it wavered.
And that’s when she noticed that the buds were breaking, finally defying the frozen stagnation of winter. It was an odd time for it to emerge, but for the first time in a long time, Celia felt, she wouldn’t define it as happiness maybe, but perhaps a pre-happiness. At the very least, it was a hopefulness. Something new, something trustful.
CHAPTER 49
Zari, Oskar, Ebba, and Celia were sitting out by the cottage. With the arrival of the warmer weather, they had started the renovation process again and were now taking a pause from their work. Tomorrow Celia was going home to the States.
They had brought out sturdy beach style wooden chairs and sat in front of the house, watching the lake break up from its icy grip.
“What color should the exterior be?” Celia asked her friends, turning to view the house.
They had made enormous improvements on the interior and were excited to get the outside looking as inviting as the inside. The mint green flaking paint had to go.
“Red,” Zari said. “Like a traditional cottage.”
“I don’t think it should be traditional,” Ebba argued. “I think it should be white instead, or blue, or green—anything but boring Swedish red.”
“I was thinking,” Celia started, “that when we’re done with the house…”
“When we’re done with the house?” Zari asked.
“Um, never mind,” Celia cut off. She’d had a thought that she wanted to bring up with the others but realized she should speak privately with Zari first.
She wondered if maybe they could offer the place to Nicole to live in during the spring and summer.
Nicole had been hateful toward Zari, and that was never going to be right, but Nicole herself was in need of help. Of course it needed to be Zari’s choice in the end, with input from the others. But no matter what they’d decide to do with the house, Celia had made up her mind that when she returned from the States she would talk to Nicole. To see if there was anything she could do.
Celia had been torn up thinking about Liv over the past months. She continued to wrestle with how she herself had such a happy and safe upbringing while her aunt had to struggle her way through her whole young life. And part of her felt guilty that she had come out of her trauma alive.
There was nothing Celia could do for Liv now, but she could try to be there for Nicole. Maybe the renovated cottage could become a safe house for her: that step that would help her out of a destructive situation and onto her feet.
They had money now, too, to continue the renovation. The money Celia had found under the floorboard. She’d tried to give it to Erik and Anette, but they flat out refused. They said she should keep it—for the house. Maybe they would actually get that furnace installed.
“We have a surprise back in the car,” Ebba suddenly exclaimed, jumping to her feet. “Come!” she said to Oskar and tugged him up from his chair.
Once they left, Zari leaned toward Celia. “I heard back from the essay competition.” She had a huge smile on her face.
“Yes?” Celia was practically bouncing in her chair. “And?”
“Second place,” Zari said.
Celia threw her arms around Zari, pulling her into the biggest hug. “Congratulations! Oh my gosh!”
Zari laughed. “That’s not all.”
“Yeah?”
“There’s a university program in Lund that’s accepted me. I submitted the essay as part of my application. They’d like me to continue working with it, maybe turn it into a thesis.”
Celia beamed at Zari. “Will you accept?”
Zari nodded. “I think so. For a while I was sure I’d go to university somewhere else. But now … I still don’t know that this is where I want to settle down, but there are also things that I am starting to love about being here.” The smile on Zari’s face was serious and confident. “I just know that I want to help bring change, wherever I go.”
“I know you will,” Celia said.
“What about you?” Zari asked. “After school’s out? What will you do?”
The excitement instantly dampened for Celia. “I don’t know. I’m just taking this one day at a time. I have no idea who I’ll be when I land on the other side of this.” She paused. “As for staying in Sweden—”
She looked over her shoulder. Ebba and Oskar were on their way back. She lowered her voice: “I need to clear my head and maybe leaving after we graduate is the best way to do that.” She bobbed her head ever so subtly toward Oskar.
Zari nodded; she understood.
Oskar and Celia had remained close friends. He didn’t want to have a relationship with her beyond friendship and there was nothing for her to do but respect that. And while there was still a painful sting in her heart, she knew that things were happening just the way they should. She needed to fill more time and space between her and her trauma.
And she was still in the process of figuring out her sexual orientation.
There were a lot of words swirling around in her head, things she might be: asexual, graysexual, demiromantic. The labels seemed less important. More important was that she was beginning to embrace the belief that sex was a choice. Not an obligation, not something that eventually must happen, but a choice. There was nothing shameful about not wanting to. And maybe she would want to some day, that would be OK, too. It would all depend on a life path that could go in so many directions.
At least she was ready to accept whatever she’d learn about herself along the way. She felt secure in that knowledge. It gave her hope.
“Look what we have—” Ebba was now skipping across the new green grass. “Cinnabuns!”
She and Oskar had come back with a bag of baked goods, a stack of plastic mugs, and a thermos.
“Hot chocolate and Celia’s favorite cinnamon buns from Nystedts cafe,” Ebba said. “To wish you a safe trip home and a safe trip back to us.”
“We do expect you back from your trip,” Oskar said.
“I will be,” Celia vowed. “Finishing the house and graduating. That I can deal with.”
The four of them pushed their chairs forward so they could get an optimum view of the lake, then went quiet with their cups of cocoa and their thoughts.
After a while, Oskar broke the silence. “You can’t lie when it comes to dandelions.”
Ebba glanced at him. “Uh, what?”
“Dandelions,” he mused, “create perfect replicas of themselves. You can try to disroot them, but identical versions of the same flower will pop up. You can’t hide from the truth. Not with dandelions.”
“Ah, the poetic carpenter,” Ebba said, teasing, and tossed a piece of cinnamon bun in Oskar’s direction. He caught it and flung it back at her.
“I like it,” Zari said. “I think it’s a nice sentiment.”
They were silent again, enjoying their pastries and soaking up the rays of sun after the hard winter.
Celia looked over at the icy lake tha
t was splitting up in spots, half-shimmering, half-frozen. She tilted her gaze skyward. A formation of geese threaded against the afternoon’s long, light clouds in a perfect V, honking ceremoniously.
They were coming home for spring.
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
Thank you, dear reader, for downloading my debut novel. I loved creating this fictional world, and I hope you enjoyed taking part in it.
Enormous thanks to Lisa Lahowe for patiently following this project through its many different phases and for offering so many insightful questions and comments along the way.
Much appreciation to Mary Borchardt for helpful notes on the final draft. Thanks to Marie Lindström, Mattias Karlsson, and Eleanora Deloughery Nordin; Ni är bäst!
Thank you to James Frost and my writing peers for encouragement and critique during our online Developing the Novel class. Thanks especially to Eve, Kirsten, Carolyn, Linda, Sharon, and Kitty for in-depth commentary on those early chapters.
Thanks to my parents who were more than gracious when I hijacked their kitchen table for writing purposes during my most recent visit to Sweden.
And finally, my deepest gratitude goes to Jonathan. This book exists because of you.